


tell me why my gods look like you

by MacBean



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, S1 Canon Compliant (Spoilers), i haven't written fanfic in almost six years please be gentle with me, until the show runners fix it themselves, very depressed pov character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacBean/pseuds/MacBean
Summary: So, I mentioned in the tags that I haven't written fanfic in almost six years, and that's part of why I cut this off where I did. Icouldwrite more parts to add to it? But it also can stand alone as is. I'm not sure which it'll be yet. But I really wanted to get something finished, looked over, and shared. I'm also not sure exactly when this takes place. I don't think I mentioned anything specific to S2, so it's just... *waves hands* ...sometime after S1. You can imagine it anywhere you think it fits and you'd like it to be.The title is a lyric from the song 1950 by King Princess. Y'all, I forgot stories need titles, and this was a last-minute scramble pick. It might change someday. idk.This is dedicated to everyone in the Discord channel for the Penumbra Mini Bang. (Check out the mini bang at https://penumbrabang.tumblr.com/about!) You're all so sweet and encouraging and validating, and I love every single one of you.





	tell me why my gods look like you

Coming home from the office after wrapping up a case, Juno isn’t paying as much attention to his surroundings as he ought to, or usually does. There’s too much on his mind. So much, in fact, that he’s turned all of it off and is focused on the ground beneath his feet. He doesn’t even look up, just trusts other pedestrians to dodge out of his way, and muscle memory to lead him to his apartment.

It’s going perfectly, actually, and he can’t believe it because when has _anything ever_ gone perfectly for him, until a shoulder slams into his, hard enough to knock him onto his ass. He curses and starts to scramble up, maybe to start a fight, when the scent hits him. It stops him cold for a full ten seconds. He sits on the ground, mouth slightly open with shock, until his brain stops spinning its wheels. Then he’s up in a flash, looking around frantically.

Juno grabs a complete stranger by the lapels of their coat and shouts into their face, “Where did he go‽”

“Hey, watch it,” the person says, pulling away and brushing off the front of their clothes, as if Juno had gotten them filthy. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

There’s no snarky remark, no returning barb for the implied insult, Juno just starts looking around again. “The guy who ran into me. You saw it, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice almost at the edge of panic. The stranger nods and points. Juno nearly gives himself whiplash snapping his head around to follow the stranger’s direction.

A tall, slim figure in a long coat with some kind of hood hiding their head and face slips around a corner into an alley.

Juno only sees the figure for a moment, and it’s well obscured by the clothing, but he still knows _for absolute certain_ who it is. The scent had made it impossible to imagine it could be anyone else, but even without that...Juno would still know. The graceful loping walk, the playful swing of the hips, the tilt of the shoulders that Juno imagines mirroring the tilt of the smiling mouth…

Without another word to the stranger, he takes off at top speed after Peter Nureyev.

When he rounds the corner, the alley is empty.

 

_______________

 

Eventually, Juno makes it home. He drops everything just inside the door, hunts down the strongest alcohol in the place, and brings the bottle into the bathroom. His plan is to get blackout drunk and throw up a lot, and he knows from past experience that this is the best place to do that. He sits on the floor, leans his back against the dingy tub, and takes his first long drink. 

The alcohol burns going down, and he wishes it hurt more. He deserves it, after all. If he could go back, he’d...well, he would do the same thing again, if he’s honest with himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to hurt for it.

He takes another long drink and sets the bottle down beside himself on the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest, folds his arms over them, rests his forehead against his arms, closes his eyes, and makes himself remember.

The thing Juno always remembers first when he thinks back on that most-of-a-night that he spent with Nureyev is the end. Not the bit where he disappeared after saying they would run away together. The bit where...well.

He remembers being in Nureyev’s lap, straddling him, his back arched and his head tilted to expose his throat. He remembers one of Nureyev’s arms around him, fingers splayed out across his back, pressing to pull him closer, and the other hand between their bodies, doing, without any direction from Juno, exactly what Juno wanted and needed. He remembers Nureyev’s open mouth, pressed against his breastbone, panting warm breath over his skin. He remembers taking Nureyev’s face between his hands, tilting it up so he could look down into it, and _drowning_ as the adoration in the eyes gazing back at him filled his lungs and stole his breath away. He remembers dying, just a little.

Because Juno’s a lady who likes to be thrown around a little, so he’s not unfamiliar with the blurred line between pleasure and pain. But he had never felt anything even close to the exquisite agony that he felt with Peter Nureyev. He doesn’t think he ever will again.

He doesn’t cry. He very resolutely does not cry. There’s some dust in his eyes, that’s all, and he wipes it out over the course of the next hour or so, as the bottle of alcohol empties along with, it feels like, his entire heart and soul.

 

_______________

 

“Wake up, Detective,” a voice murmurs close to his ear. 

Juno tries, but not very hard;  his head feels twice the size, and stuffed with cotton. Not to mention, the voice is...nice. He wants it to keep talking to him, and something in him thinks if he wakes up it might stop.

“Juuuuunooo…”

He can feel himself being shifted around. He doesn’t struggle, but he does wish whoever this person is would leave him alone to just wallow in misery on the cold floor. He groans in half-hearted protest.

There is a heavy put-upon sigh followed by a sharp slapping sound. Juno’s brain lags for a moment longer and then realises it really was a slap, and it had connected with his face. He makes another attempt at verbal protest, which comes out something like “Mrrfnghhh,” and gestures weakly with one hand to wave the person away.

“Oh, for…” the voice says, exasperated, and Juno feels himself being heaved up off the floor. Suddenly gravity seems weird, as if it’s pulling him to the side instead of down. It connects that he was being fireman’s carried when he is unceremoniously dumped into his bed. The mattress shifts as the person sits down next to him. “Juno,” it says again, firmly this time, ordering instead of coaxing.

This almost angry tone makes Juno’s stomach lurch and his alcohol-soaked brain can’t piece together why it feels so bad that this person is speaking to him the way that most people speak to him. His eyes flutter open for a moment, but everything is blurry.

“Oh, Juno,” murmurs the voice. A hand caresses his cheek softly. Purely by instinct, he leans into it, but it disappears in an instant and he feels the person rise off the mattress, hears them leave the room. When they return, he is shifted around again, two pills are pushed past his lips, and a warm hand supports the back of his neck, tilting his head to pour some water into his mouth to wash down the pills.

That makes Juno start to struggle to wake up properly, but the voice is there, reassuring him. “Shhh, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. They’re just so your head won’t hurt as much when you wake again.” Juno feels himself lowered back into a horizontal position, and then the person lies down beside him, pulling him close and cradling his body. Juno opens his eyes and sees…

He assumes he must be dreaming. Even though he is absolutely certain he saw Nureyev just a few hours ago, he can’t imagine the man showing up here now and taking care of him. Being kind. But an itch at the back of his mind makes him wonder. If this _was_ a product of his own imagination...Nureyev would not be kind. Juno very literally can not imagine anyone caring for him like this. Not even as it’s happening.

“Nureyev?” he asks, so very softly.

And there’s that tilted smile.

“Oh, good, you haven’t gone blind.”

“Are you real?” Juno asks, bringing a hand up to touch Nureyev’s face, checking to see if he’s solid. He is.

Nureyev turns his head a little to kiss Juno’s fingers. “Last I checked, I’m as real as I ever was.”

“Not comforting,” Juno mutters, closing his eyes again. Nureyev had always had something of a dreamlike quality about him.

It’s silent for so long that Juno starts to think this really was a dream and he’s alone again. When Nureyev does speak again, the playful quality is gone from his voice. “Go to sleep, Juno,” he says softly, arms tightening around him. “We can talk when there’s less alcohol in your system.”

Juno makes a vague sound of assent and starts to relax back into sleep, but suddenly his eyes spring open. “Wait…”

Nureyev’s eyebrows raise, and he looks expectantly at Juno. “Yes?”

“I’m… It…” Juno appears a little helpless for a few moments, before he makes a decision. “Just in case you aren’t a dream…”

He takes Nureyev’s face in his hands, the way he remembers, and does the best he can in his current impaired state to give That Look, the one that had undone him the last time they were together. He waits, trying to radiate love or whatever his damaged version of it is, to see Nureyev’s reaction.

When it comes in the form of crinkling at the corners of Nureyev’s eyes as he smiles, understanding, Juno closes his eyes and rests their foreheads together. “Okay, great. Now, just in case you _are_ a dream…” He takes a deep breath, and then kisses Nureyev until they’re both gasping for air.

“ _Ju_ no!” Nureyev says, sounding playful again.

Juno smiles—genuinely, like he hasn’t in months—and settles down into his bed, resting his head against the crook of Nureyev’s neck. “We’ll talk later?” he asks quietly.

“Of course. I certainly hope we’ll do a little more than that, too.” Juno can feel Nureyev’s smile against his forehead.

Juno laughs a little and shakes his head. “No, I mean…” He trails off and Nureyev sighs.

“Juno, I was _trying_ not to say it like this, but...yes, I will still be here when you wake up.” His hand slips under Juno’s shirt, fingertips stroking up and down his spine. “I promise.”

Juno isn’t sure it’s wise to trust a promise from a criminal, but...he does. He knows that unless this has all been in his head, he will wake up with Peter Nureyev still beside him. And then they’ll talk. If the talk goes well, maybe they’ll do a little more than that. If it doesn’t...well… For once, Juno doesn’t let himself worry.

He falls asleep peacefully, listening to Nureyev’s heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I mentioned in the tags that I haven't written fanfic in almost six years, and that's part of why I cut this off where I did. I _could _write more parts to add to it? But it also can stand alone as is. I'm not sure which it'll be yet. But I really wanted to get something finished, looked over, and shared. I'm also not sure exactly when this takes place. I don't think I mentioned anything specific to S2, so it's just... *waves hands* ...sometime after S1. You can imagine it anywhere you think it fits and you'd like it to be.__  
>  __  
> The title is a lyric from the song 1950 by King Princess. Y'all, I forgot stories need titles, and this was a last-minute scramble pick. It might change someday. idk.  
>  __  
> This is dedicated to everyone in the Discord channel for the Penumbra Mini Bang. (Check out the mini bang at https://penumbrabang.tumblr.com/about!) You're all so sweet and encouraging and validating, and I love every single one of you.  
> 


End file.
